


i'll keep my lanterns lit

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Temporary Character Death, original monster of the week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A contract from a nearby village puts Geralt in a cave with a monster that has been luring in and eating villagers. He thinks he's prepared, but perhaps he's biting off more than he can chew.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 219





	i'll keep my lanterns lit

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the lovely art by hearse! go check it out [here](https://twitter.com/SvetozarNien/status/1280487309662728192?s=20). 
> 
> special thanks to max 2 and dallie for listening to me yell about this fic for several days and then threatening me when i pretended like i was never gonna finish it. 
> 
> a more detailed description of the monster that geralt faces can be found in the end notes

Geralt hates caves. In general, their contents (ruins or treasures) usually aren’t worth the trouble it takes to prepare Cat, explore them, and kill whatever monsters lurk in the inner channel. (There is _always_ a monster living in the cave. If it’s not a physical one, then it’s a wraith, and Geralt _really_ hates those.) 

But a contract is a contract, and beggars can’t be choosers, so Geralt swallows his disdain for the damp and the dark and goes exploring anyway. 

This cave is… different. There’s something ancient and sinister about it that sets Geralt’s teeth on edge. The villagers in the area had been complaining of hearing a voice from the depths of the cave, trying to lure them in. Anybody who had been brave, or stupid, enough to heed the voice from the cave had yet to return. When bones, gnawed clean and sucked free of marrow, had started washing up on the nearby beach, the locals had decided that _maybe_ it was time to call in a professional. 

Geralt had been hoping that maybe, for once, it would just be a rogue pack of drowners who had made their home in the cave, but the general malaise emanating from the mouth of the cave quickly shot that idea down. Drowners were many things, but they weren’t necessarily _evil_. 

Something else, then. Geralt knew this area, it had been formed centuries ago, and there had been a village perched on the hill above the cliff as far back as written record. To put it simply, this area was old, this cave was even older, and the thing living inside it could be an unknown monster, asleep for hundreds of years to finally be awoken by the logging operations taken up by the villagers so they could expand. 

If that _was_ the case, well, Geralt was in for an _extremely_ bad time. “Just this once, can it be easy?” he muttered to himself. When no one answered, Geralt sighed, stepped forward into the shadow of the cave mouth, downed Cat, and prepared himself for hours of _dampness_. 

The first thing Geralt notices about the cave is the smell - an overwhelming stench of rot and decay. His initial instinct is to blame necrophages, but when he listens, there’s none of the distinctive growling and snapping that marks the presence of corpse-eaters. The second thing Geralt notices is the _darkness_ . Now, most caves are dark, but usually Cat eliminates that problem. This darkness is something else, something other and artificial. The light from the sun reaches into the cave, only to be stopped a few steps in by a wall of _black_. 

Even with Cat, Geralt can’t see into that darkness. A deep feeling of dread settles into the pit of his stomach. Geralt backtracks the few steps to the entrance, squinting against the harsh light, and picks up a piece of mostly dry driftwood. He lights the tip with a snap of Igni, and turns to head back into the cave.

A strong gust of wind from the interior of the cave blows his torch out as soon as he steps foot in the unnatural darkness. 

“Interesting,” Geralt mutters, tossing the charred piece of wood over his shoulder. A quick blast of Igni doesn’t provide much in the way of illumination. The villagers _had_ mentioned something about the caves being dark, and Geralt had mostly brushed it off as human eyesight being poor. Just in case, though, he had clipped the lamp he’d received from Keira Metz to his belt. 

He pulls it out now, and immediately the cave in front of him is washed in a sickly green glow. Another gust of wind comes from the cave, but the lantern remains lit. Geralt sets off into the cave. 

As far as caves go, and ignoring the unnatural darkness, this one is pretty standard. Geralt’s boots are soaked through with cold water, but so far there has been nothing to show for the monster supposedly lurking here. Geralt doesn’t trust it. It’s quiet. 

That’s when the singing starts. 

Geralt doesn’t have the ear for music, never has, and never will. Even after years spent with Jaskier, Geralt couldn’t tell the difference between a harmony and a melody, a flat note or a sharp note. But Geralt _knows_ this voice, has heard it for years in all manner of ways - singing, talking, lilted with amusement, filled with anger and indignation, and even, a few times, choked with sadness. 

That’s Jaskier singing. 

Briefly, Geralt considers the idea that it’s _impossible_ for Jaskier to be here. They had just parted for the winter, Geralt heading north towards Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier heading east towards Oxenfurt. 

The singing continues. Doubt starts to creep in. 

Jaskier has been known to follow Geralt with no warning. Jaskier has little regard for his own health sometimes, and has been known to do _very_ stupid things when he thinks (knows) Geralt is around to save him. It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility for Jaskier to have turned around and followed Geralt north. 

The singing stops. The screaming starts. 

Geralt has a choice. He can believe this is fake, a product of whatever monster lurks in this cave, potentially letting Jaskier die. His other choice is to believe it’s real, that Jaskier, despite the evidence that the bard _shouldn’t_ be here, is here, and is being attacked. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier yells. “Help me!” 

Geralt takes off in a run, heading towards the source of the voice. He’s lost so much already and he will not lose Jaskier, not if he can help it. He skids around the corner, almost losing his balance on the damp stones, just in time to see _something_ take a swipe at the brightly colored bard sitting on the stone in the middle of the room. 

The force of the swipe unleashes a blast of wind that makes Geralt lose his grip on the lantern. It goes clattering across the stones, bouncing sickly green light off the walls in odd patterns. He swears he sees the figure of a black horse, standing taller than should be possible, just for an instant, before the lantern comes to a stop, lens pointed towards the ground. The room is instantly thrown into darkness. 

In the absence of the screams, Geralt’s ears ring. It’s too quiet. He shakes his head to clear the stuffed cotton feeling and goes to collect his lantern so he can investigate. His heart is hammering in his chest, and worry makes his hands shake, but he can’t be distracted. He’ll be no help if he can’t see. Lantern first. Then Jaskier. 

The lantern isn’t hard to find, and Geralt bends to pick it up. Something from the ceiling drips on him, misses the hard leather of his breast plate and soaks into the cloth of his sleeve. Geralt ignores it, even as more of the lukewarm liquid drips on him. 

He picks up his lantern. It feels odd. Then the smell hits him: copper and rust and iron, coating the back of his throat. Blood _, human_ blood. Geralt turns around and takes a step forward, only to nearly trip as the toe of his boot snags something fleshy but solid. 

Jaskier’s body hadn’t been that close before, had it? Geralt crouches down and brings his lantern closer. 

The light throws the lines of Jaskier’s body into sharp relief and Geralt has to bite back a wounded sound. The light doesn’t reach past the upper part of Jaskier’s chest, but Geralt can see the dull shine of something wet pooling around where Jaskier’s head should be. Jaskier’s head is missing. Whatever had swiped at him had taken it clean off. There was no way the bard could have survived something like that. 

Geralt’s eyes burn, and tears threaten to fall. More than anything, he wants to scream and rage because this _wasn’t_ supposed to happen. But he can’t do that now, not here, not in this cave with a monster still loose. He shoves the hurt deep down, distances himself from it and locks it away for later before he focuses back on the task at hand. _Facts, Geralt_ , he tells himself as he sets his lantern to the side so he can pat down Jaskier’s pockets. He finds them empty - odd, considering the troubadour constantly has scraps of paper and a pencil to jot down stray ideas. 

Geralt sits back on his haunches and frowns at the body laid out on the stone. Something doesn’t feel quite _right_ about this. His heart is screaming because it looks like Jaskier is dead, but his mind is telling him to look closer - closer, find the inconsistencies. 

Jaskier’s hands catch his attention - on the left is Jaskier’s usual golden thumb ring, but the right hand is entirely unadorned. That is definitely _not_ normal. 

A few years ago, at a market in Novigrad, Geralt had caught Jaskier eyeing a ring sparkling in the late morning light. It was made of solid silver, _real_ silver, with a large sapphire in the middle, held in place by prongs that resembled a crown. The sides were hollow, filled with a delicate filigree.

When Jaskier had wandered off to look at another stall, Geralt had asked the seller about the ring. The seller told him about the price (too much), its enchantments (the ring had none), and the healing properties of sapphire (bullshit). Geralt asked about a few more rings, and when another customer came up and the seller was distracted, Geralt slipped the ring into his pocket and went to find Jaskier. 

Later that night, Geralt presented Jaskier with the ring. “I saw you looking at it,” Geralt said. “And I know that your favorite ring got destroyed on the last hunt.” Geralt set the ring gently into Jaskier’s open palm. “It’s silver, good for finding monsters.”  
  
Jaskier had put the ring on that night, and since then, Geralt had never seen the bard without it. 

It’s missing now. 

Geralt’s first thought is that it had been stolen, but that doesn’t make any sense. Bandits would have taken Jaskier’s golden ring too, not just the silver ring. Geralt had told Jaskier that silver was good for finding monsters, and it is. No monster can come into contact with silver without some sort of reaction. Even shape-shifters like dopplers can’t imitate anything silver. 

His frown deepens. “This isn’t Jaskier,” he mutters to himself as he grabs his lantern and stands. He stares down at the body that looks like Jaskier’s. His mind is racing. This creature, whatever it is, is too evil and violent to be a doppler. There are no signs of any animals in the cave, so it can’t be a therianthrope. “What are you?” Geralt asks the seemingly empty space around him. 

The air seems to vibrate, like it’s _laughing_. 

A voice speaks, bouncing off the walls of the cave, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “ _You’ve never met one like us, Witcher_ ,” it purrs. “ _We’re ancient, far older than you and any humans. We were here before the Conjunction of the Spheres, and we will be here long after the last of the humans have died out.”_

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Geralt challenges. 

The creature laughs again. “ _Are you going to do the same to us as you did to your bard? Julian followed you for years, and now he’s dead because you couldn’t protect him. See his body on the floor?”_

The cave wall behind Geralt begins to glow, some of the unnatural darkness seeping away for a moment to allow the light from the luminescent moss to illuminate the scene in front of Geralt. There is blood _everywhere_. On the body, pooling on the floor underneath and around the body, and, when Geralt glances upwards, even on the ceiling. His sleeve is red with it, and now that he’s thinking about it, Geralt can feel dried blood on his face, pulling with every movement he makes. 

_“See his head in your hand? You’ve been holding it this whole time, like a trophy from the monsters you hunt.”_

__

Geralt looks down sharply. Jaskier’s face stares back at him, eyes blank and glossy with death. It _can’t_ be. Geralt hadn’t been holding a head. He had his lantern, and _only_ his lantern. _But_ , something in the back of his mind whispers, _your lantern felt wrong when you picked it up._ “No!” Geralt yells. He forces himself to look closer. 

As the unnatural darkness creeps back in, it becomes obvious that Jaskier’s head is glowing a faint green, the same as the lantern Keira gave him. 

“If you are so old and powerful,” Geralt begins, tearing his eyes away from the gruesome sight, “why are you stuck in this cave?”

 _“We’re weak now_ ,” the creature hisses. It’s still the creature talking, Geralt can still make out its original voice, but now it’s also using Jaskier’s voice to speak. Geralt _knows_ it’s _not_ Jaskier. The voice sounds like someone layered Jaskier’s voice over twenty times, and each layer is slightly off from the last. The words list and drag, and it reminds Geralt of wind through leaves, of a snake sliding over rocks. The voice comes from Jaskier’s head, still held in Geralt’s fist. It contorts the bard’s face into a twisted facsimile of the expressions Geralt is used to seeing on Jaskier’s face. 

Geralt hates it. It makes his stomach roil, to see Jaskier’s likeness reduced to this. 

_“We’re weak now_ ,” the creature says. “ _We’re weak now, but soon we will be strong. Maybe_ ,” and it draws out the a, sounding amused and lighthearted, “ _Maybe when we get out of this cave, we’ll hunt down your pretty little bard_.” 

The blood in Geralt’s veins turns to ice. It boils shortly after, as Geralt processes the words. Nothing will hurt Jaskier, especially not this monster haunting this cave, not while Geralt is around. Geralt’s mind races as he takes the information he knows and tries to figure out what sort of monster he’s dealing with. 

It can talk, it’s sentient and smart, but unspeakably evil. It seems to be able to reach into the depths of Geralt’s mind to pull out his biggest fear and then makes it come to life. Complete hallucinations, like the one Gearlt experienced, are rare. Only something, or someone, extremely powerful can conjure hallucinations that feel _this_ real. 

Geralt will never forget the feeling of Jaskier’s blood soaking through his armor, the sight of the bard’s lifeless body on the stone, the feeling of his head clutched in Geralt’s fist and attached to nothing. 

It’s more than just _fear_ , Geralt realizes. It’s a _nightmare_ brought to life. Something slides into place, a small paragraph of information Geralt had read in a book older than Vesemir one day when he was a boy. The horse he saw earlier… lives in darkness, eats humans, can turn even the deepest of fears into the most real of nightmares. He’s dealing with a Koszmar, an ancient shapeshifter that uses its prey's greatest dream to lure them in, before trapping and weakening them with their worst fear. 

It lives and hunts in darkness because direct light reveals its true form and makes it weak. 

_“We’ve never had a witcher before_ .” The creature is still talking, oblivious to the revelation Geralt’s just had. “ _Your kind didn’t exist when we went to sleep, but now that you’re here… well… we’ve never had prey with such_ delicious _nightmares. You’re going to be a feast. And then we’ll finally be able to leave this cave… we’ll destroy that village first, then your bard, your sorceress, and_ Cirilla.”

Geralt snarls and reaches into the pouch secured to his waist. He pulls out a Samum bomb, and ignites the fuse with a snap of Igni. “You won’t be leaving this cave!” he yells as he tosses the bomb towards the entrance of the room. He shuts his eyes tightly and hides his face in his elbow.  
  
The flash from the bomb is still bright enough to make him blink away spots when he opens his eyes. But his lantern is back to normal, and in the rapidly fading light, Geralt can make out the same black horse shape he saw before. He turns sharply and points his lantern directly at it.  
  
The horse pulls its lips back into a snarl, revealing rows of stained teeth that taper into a sharp point. “ _You die here!”_ it roars as it charges headfirst towards Geralt.  
  
Geralt waits until the last second before rolling out of the way. The Koszmar runs into the cave wall and stumbles backwards. It turns back toward Geralt, and this time Geralt is close enough he can see the blazing suns that are its eyes. 

They burn with hatred and anger and an ancient hunger. It’s panting, sides heavy and foam forming where its lips are still pulled back from its teeth. Geralt draws his sword, tightens his grip on the handle of his lantern, and bares his teeth in return. The Koszmar paws the ground and charges again. Geralt side-steps the charge, and puts a large gash in the creature’s side.  
  
The dance continues, until the stones beneath Geralt’s feet are wet and slippery with the creature’s silvery blood. It’s slowing, weakening as its wounds bleed out sluggishly. It’s currently eyeing him balefully from the other side of the cave, and Geralt can see the gears turning in its eyes as it tries to figure a way to get out of this scrape alive. 

It seems to make up its mind fairly quickly. The horse tosses its head before charging one last time, directly past Geralt.  
  
Geralt follows the movement, sword up and ready to take off the Koszmar’s head. His sword doesn’t go through the flesh of the monster. Instead, Geralt finds himself face to face with bright blue eyes and wind-blown brown hair. _Jaskier_ . His sword dips, resting gently in the divot of not-Jaskier’s collarbone.  
  
Those blue eyes are wide and shining with fear. And for a moment Geralt has to swallow his bile and remind himself that this _isn’t_ Jaskier. But it’s so hard, when the thing in front of him looks _just_ like him, sounds _just_ like him.  
  
“You’re killing me, Geralt,” not-Jaskier says as he takes a small step forward. Blood beads red under the sharp point of Geralt’s sword. “I always knew you would be the death of me, Witcher. I knew when I first met you, when all the world knew you as the Butcher.” Not-Jaskier tilts his head to the side, and the movement makes Geralt’s sword cut deeper. Blood flows freely, soaking the collar of Jaskier’s chemise. “It’s all you’ll ever be, isn’t it?” 

“Get out of my head!” Geralt snarls as he swings the lantern up to point directly at not-Jaskier’s face.  
  
Not-Jaskier _screeches,_ loud and shrill, as his form dissolves almost immediately into ash. The black horse is left, towering over Geralt. It snaps its head down, prepared to bite Geralt’s head off, but Geralt is faster. 

In an instant, he drops the lantern, grabs his sword with both hands, and swings with enough power that the Koszmar’s head is severed clean from its neck. Its body crumples immediately, but the light of the sun in its eyes takes a moment longer to fade.

And then Geralt is alone, his labored breathing too loud in the sudden silence. The unnatural darkness is gone now, so Geralt clips the lantern back to his belt, downs Cat, and gets out of the cave and back to the village as fast as he can.  
  
He collects his reward and restocks in record time before turning south-east and heading towards Oxenfurt.

He arrives in Oxenfurt less than a week later, having pushed Roach almost to breaking. As an apology, he sets her up in the biggest stall with extra hay and oats. “I’ll be back, girl,” he says as he strokes her nose. “Thank you.” He tracks Jaskier by scent across the university and the city, until he ends up outside a small townhouse a short walk from the academy’s arts hall.  
  
Jaskier opens his door on the first knock and greets Geralt with a surprised grin. "Oh, Geralt! I hadn't expected to see you until spring—" Geralt takes his face in his hands and kisses him soundly, swallows the rest of his words with his own mouth, and Jaskier pauses for only a moment before melting into it.

"What was that for?" Jaskier asks as they part, hands curled in Geralt's armor. "Not that I'm complaining. Far from it, actually – you are quite welcome to do that as much as you like – but I would like to know what brought it on. You've never shown a hint of interest before." 

Geralt just shakes his head, rests his forehead against Jaskier’s and closes his eyes. He inhales Jaskier’s soft scent and lets it calm him, ground him. "Bad hunt. Made me realize some things. I'll tell you more later." 

"Is that a promise, Witcher?" 

Geralt can't help but smile. "Yeah. It's a promise."

**Author's Note:**

> the creature that geralt faces is one i created. a koszmar (polish for nightmare) is shapeshifter. its form changes according to its prey's strongest dream (to lure them in) and then their worst fear to trap and weaken them before it eats them. its true form is that of a horse, and is only revealed in light. this is why it hunts under the cover of darkness and is currently hiding in a cave that it has made unnaturally dark. the few people who saw its true form described it as that of a “pitch black mare” so hunting at night + form of a ‘mare’ = nightmare. however, the creature is so old that people forgot where the name came from so all that remains is nightmare = bad dream
> 
> can you tell i spent too much time on it? anyway thank you for reading!


End file.
